Page 131 of The Import Slot
I’m about to ask why when the door to Vicky’s bedroom creaks open, and Liam emerges.
“Vic, I’m just off to the gym with Ryan and Johnny—oh, morning, Jenna.” I give him a smile, and he looks at Vicky.
She’s trying to wipe her face with the sleeve of her pyjamas, but it’s not making any difference.
“Okay,” she squeaks.
“Are you okay?” he says, directed at Vicky, but he looks back and forth between us.
“I’m fine.”
“We’ll head over to Ryan’s in a bit, Liam,” I say, giving him the cue to leave.
He hesitates, but as soon as the door closes behind him, she lets out a breath.
“What’s going on then, Vic?” I give her back a gentle rub.
“It’s worse because I liked it. Fuck, Jen. If I hadn’t been drinking, who knows what would have happened? As soon as I saw him when he turned up yesterday, I was angry, but then he hugged me. It felt like all the fog had cleared, and I knew where I’m meant to be, and what I’m meant to be doing and it’s with him.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, swallowing hard.
“I think you need to tell him,” I say, but she doesn’t reply; she’s staring into thin air, her thoughts elsewhere.
We sit in silence for what feels like ages, and she only stirs when my phone buzzes on the counter. I get up and grab my phone, sitting back down next to Vicky. Ryan has sent me a photo of himself, Liam, and Johnny at the gym. None of them have shirts on, and oh my, what a sight.
Ryan:This is the best Christmas gift I could have ever wished for. Thank you for fixing it. I love you.
I flash the photo to Vicky, who breaks out in a smile.
“I one hundred per cent think that if those three ever got the same shifts on the ice, we could win the league, Challenge Cup, and the playoffs.” Vicky says.
I feel like she’s on to something, but then she changes the subject to the conundrum I face.
“What are you going to do, anyway, Jenna?”
I haven’t thought about it, really. Well, I have, but not seriously. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s all I can think about. Giving up your career in the NHL is something I can only imagine someone would do if they really had to because of injury or skill decline or age or something like that. Ryan ticks none of those boxes, and he is better than ever. All the extra free time has meant he’s been working out more and training harder.
“It’s not even up for debate. Before we got into anything serious, we knew this was coming, and when he asked if I’d go with him, I said yes, because I meant it. Hey, come too! We could keep each other company—” I trail off, wondering if I’ve stepped too far, but Vicky smiles.
“He’s done seven years, Jen. Maybe he’s ready for a change. There’s more to life than hockey, after all.” I get it. She clears her throat. “Well, saying that, I didn’t go to Toronto with Liam because I didn’t want to serve as a distraction. If he had a shot at the NHL, I knew he’d need to one hundred per cent focus on his game, not on me. Liam differs from Ryan; he’s easier to distract.”
I can’t even begin to understand the depth of Vicky and Liam’s relationship. Still, seeing them together, it’s obvious how much they care about each other.
When I called Liam and invited him for Christmas, he was all about Vicky and no one can deny the way they look at each other; Liam looks at Vicky the same way Ryan looks at me.
“I’m off to get a shower,” she says. “We need to take the food over at some point too, remember?”
Shit, I’d forgotten that we had a load of food to take to the boys’ place. I pull up my notes app and run my way down the list. The boys are down to handle desserts, and Vicky, Becca and I are making the main meal. Still, all the prep is happening today to take the stress out of tomorrow. Everything bar the turkey is here or at the boys’ apartment; Johnny has the turkey.
A text comes through from Ryan just as I’m rooting through the fridge.
Ryan:Done with the gym. Shower??
Before I can text back, there’s a knock on the front door, and I stride over, swinging it open.
“I missed you,” Ryan says, tumbling into the apartment.
I pull his hand, leading him to my bedroom. I’ve missed him too, and I don’t even care that he’s sweaty.
